I'd Turn the World Upside Down for You
by missgolightly
Summary: A collection of vignettes/snippets that deal mainly with the trio raising their respective children.  It's cutesy and fluffy and full of parents and kids.  This is what I do best.  I hope you enjoy!
1. The Beach Vacation

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters; if I did, I'd be filthy, filthy rich and would probably never be on the internet for my gallivanting about the globe and feeding small orphaned children from golden plates.**

**Author's Note: One of my favorite things to write is dad!Harry; I think he would be an absolutely adorable and somewhat clueless father. So this is a sort of collection of stories as he and Ginny are raising their children. Some will be funny, some will be terrible; I'm not wonderful at writing or anything. Updates will be INCREDIBLY sporadic, sadly—I have a job, a car payment, other adult stuff nobody told me came along with being an adult (how dare they not tell me!). I hope you enjoy!**

**A/N, Part Deux: Another small note! The title comes from a quote by Frank Sinatra, who told his daughter, Nancy, "I'd turn the world upside down for you." In case you were wondering. le nods***

The trip had been planned for months. Vacation days had been scheduled, bags had been set aside for packing, funds had been allotted; it was a done deal, hook, line, and sinker. But the early arrival of one Albus Severus Potter—one month and four days early, to be exact—had threatened to throw a wrench into the plans. Harry was thoroughly prepared to cancel the trip; he encouraged it in a quiet way, even, but Ginny would have none of it.

"We are going," she had said, and it seemed final.

The night before the departure, he tried to appeal to her worrisome side (surely she had one; she did cry when James stuck a bean too far up his nose and had to be taken to the emergency room). He often found himself the only fretter in a family of carefree—he at once understood his mother-in-law's lifelong plight—and would sometimes appeal to Hermione, who told him on more than one occasion to lighten up, babies fall or cry or run fevers or accidentally turn couch cushions into angry, feral cats sometimes. Nevertheless, he fought valiantly in a losing battle, always going down with poise and dignity.

"We can't take a baby to the beach!" he shouted, flailing his arms.

"And why on Earth not?" 

"What-what if he drowns?" 

"Oh, good point, sir. Excellent point," said Ginny. "What if my two-week old son drowns?" 

Harry crossed his arms, his face nearly smug with satisfactory see-i-bring-up-valid-points-ness.  
>Ginny's laughter spilled from her lips in short little pffts. "What do you think is going to happen while we're there? Do you think I'm going to chuck him into the ocean or something?" <p>

"No! But-but what if he," he paused, his mind racing through the many surely dangerous beach catastrophes bound to happen. "What if he falls in or the like?" 

"Harry. He can't hold his own head up. I find it hard to believe he will walk into the ocean, trip, fall, and drown." 

"What if I drop him?" 

"You won't drop him!" She sounded exasperated as she pulled back the quilt on the bed. "And you surely won't drop him into the Atlantic." 

"Yes, but what if I do?" 

She laughed in an I-give-up sort of way, crawling into bed. "What do you want me to say? That I expect you to kill our children? That you're an awful father? I won't." 

"That's not-" 

"James is a few months shy of three. He hasn't choked, been kidnapped, or been hit by something heavy, Merlin help us. He's only been to St. Mungo's once, and consideri-" 

"Once is once too many!" 

"Considering," she spoke loudly over him, as if he were an annoying hum in the background. "He is partially Weasley, this is no easy feat. We're doing well. You're doing well." 

She rolled over, nestling herself against the pillow and closing her eyes. "You worry too much. Just go to sleep, we have a long day tomorrow." 

She put out the light and he was left standing in the dark, the muffled murmurs of his sons' quiet sleeping in his ears, even through the walls of the house. 

_It's the second one does you in,_ Bill had told him upon announcing Ginny's delicate condition. _The first, you're new and too excited. The second, though, you know what's coming. It's not novel and you find time to be scared of your own damned shadow. You learn, though._

He crawled into bed and thought about maybe a bubble-head charm. Just in case.


	2. The Smiling Face on the Plastic Stick

**Disclaimer: Again, I don't own any of these characters. Wish I did, though. Could use with a few extra bucks.**

She flung open the door and it crashed against the wall of the bedroom. She winced, knowing she'd made a dent or possibly a hole in the wall, but she would deal with that later. "Harry? Could you come here for a second?" 

Many moments later, he crawled in, one son on his back and the other hanging around his neck. He spoke loudly over the sound of their giggling and cries for 'more horsey!'. "Yeah, Gin?"

She held out a white stick in front of her and spoke just as loudly. "We got news."

"What kind of-" He lost his words when he saw the dangling piece of plastic imprinted with a happy face. "Does the smile face mean-"

"Yep."

Harry unlatched the boy's arms from around his neck and sat up, the eldest son sliding off his back. "James, take Allie to the playroom."

"Why?"

"Cos I asked you to." 

"But I don't wanna."

"Do as I say."

"No!"

"James Sirius-" Ginny's voice was electric and dangerous. Shaking in the soles of his feet—he knew what the sparking in his mother's voice meant—the dark-headed boy quickly grabbed his brother's hand and led him down the hall. Silence passed between the two adults, Harry on the floor and Ginny leaning on the door frame, until they heard the clicking of the playroom door being closed.

"Does this mean," he barely breathed the next two words. "Another one?"

She nodded and tossed the stick towards the sink. It missed and ricocheted off the bathtub, knocking down a bottle of shampoo and two razors. "Damn it!" she yelled, storming to the tub and knocking everything off the shower shelves. She sat on the edge of the tub and put her head in her hands, her hair coming loose from her ponytail and moving in front of her face, swishing back and forth.

"Oh, don't." He crawled into the bathroom and squatted beside her, putting her head on his shoulder and shushing her. "It's okay! This is—this is good news!"

"But my job! And Allie-," Sniff. "He's only-" Sniff. "How did this happen?"

He smoothed his hand over her hair and tried to bite back the chuckle that was already rolling from his lips. "Do you really need me to answer that for you?"

"No. I guess not."

"I can go over the finer points if you need me to."

"I wasn't being literal, you great git."

"Aha! There's a smile!" he grinned. "Really, this is good. Great, even! Another one!"

"That's three."

"You are your mother's daughter."

"Oh, shut it."

He smiled and kissed her forehead. "Another one!"

She grinned and shook her head, hoisting herself off the side of the tub. "Merlin help us it's not another son. I've come so close to putting bows in Allie's hair it's not exactly fair." 

"He does have longish hair."

"Take 'em both to the barber, would you?"

"James' will just grow back."

"I like to try."

He stood up and followed Ginny out of the bathroom where they were met by two pairs of eyes staring into the master bedroom. He beamed and picked up his eldest son as Allie moved on top of his feet.

"Guess what?"

"What?"

"You're getting a new baby brother or sister."

Much to Harry's surprise, James' face didn't twist into a grin or a laugh, but instead into a scowl.

"Why that face?"

"Again?" He pointed down to his younger brother. "But I don't even like that one!"

"Yes you do," said Ginny as she sat on the bed, putting on a pair of socks. "You love your brother."

"No, I don't! I don't!" He wriggled around so much that Harry had to return him to the ground and he stamped on his father's feet, his little hands curled into fists. "Stop having babies! Take him back and get me a broom instead!"

He tore out of the bedroom and they heard his door shut as hard as a four-year-old could manage. Harry stooped down and picked up his youngest son, who was chewing on his fingers and babbling to himself.

"He really needs an attitude adjustment," Ginny muttered to herself. She rose from the bed and took Albus from his father. "Go talk to him."

"Fine."

As Harry walked toward the middle bedroom, fearing a tantrum from the tiny cluster of limbs just inside the door, he realized maybe a daughter was, on the whole, a very good plan.


	3. Cheerios and Cleaning Spells

**Disclaimer: Again, none of these characters are mine. I feel the need to put this at the top of every installment? Don't judge me.**

**A/N: I know I'm updating pretty regularly right now, but that's because I'm sitting on quite a bit of dad!Harry and papa!Weasley (why Harry is Dad and Ron is Papa, I'll never know) and am ready to get it here and out of my thousands of notebooks. These aren't in any sort of chronological order, either; they're all just jumbled around and can pretty well stand alone. I also think that both Harry & Ginny and Ron & Hermione incorporated Muggle elements into their everyday life. I hope you enjoy!**

"Just me and you today, buddy."

Harry handed his son a few cheerios and the giggling, chubby boy crammed them into his mouth. He then extended his slobbery hand to his dad, hitting it on the white surface, beckoning for more. Harry set the bowl on the table of the highchair for James' convenience and the child, a snaggle-tooth grin alighting his face, stuck his pudgy fingers into the bowl and dumped the soggy contents onto the floor, howling with laughter.

"Well, guess we're done with that," Harry grimaced, pulling James from the highchair. James stuck his slimy hands into his father's hair and smeared milk and baby slobber residue over the side of his face. Harry squeezed his eyes and tried to smile at his son. "Wanna play? And stop touching my face, maybe?"

The toddler babbles something Harry couldn't understand, which he took for an agreement. He set the boy on the floor and James raced off, his wobbly legs unsteady beneath him. He ran to the CD shelf and began pulling cases down, throwing them onto the ground with loud clacks. Groaning, Harry trotted over and bodily picked up James, positioning him away from the shelf, and started putting back the CDs. He was barely started when he heard a loud crash and a screech from behind him.

He spun around to see the boy toddling off toward the bedrooms, chasing the cat. He had pulled over the lamp somehow, and now it laid askew on the floor, the shade bent at an awkward angle. "James!" he yelled, hearing the unmistakable yelp of a cat who's had his tail pulled.

_**-xxxxx-**_

The apartment was demolished. There were toy cars, clothes, bathroom supplies, and baby powder strung about the room. The television was on static, a VCR tape was sitting undone by the end table, and there was a soggy trail of carpet and cheerios from the kitchen to the living room. Exactly three sippy cups were on the visible floor, and two spoons and the remote control had been lost underneath the couch. The cat was on top of the refrigerator, hissing violently. Harry's glasses had broken twice. James had three band aids and only one injury, a skinned chin from falling against the corner of the bathroom counter.

Harry was sitting on the floor, his arms folded over a blue, plastic laundry hamper. His head was on his forearm; he was exhausted.

"Daddy funny!" a voice screamed gleefully from underneath the hamper. "Daddy, out! Out!"

"No," he said tonelessly, not raising his head. "Daddy is _tired_. Daddy needs to _clean_, before Mummy gets home. Daddy is keeping you under the basket so Tweety doesn't _eat you_."

"Teety! Maow. Maow."

"Yes, Tweety says 'meow'. Now can you stay under there?" He stood up and looked around at the disaster area that was once his living room. He glanced down and saw the hamper gliding across the carpet. He put a foot on it and heard James whimper something that sounded uncannily like 'no go for Jamesie', then he scanned the room for something heavy to replace his foot.

_A Complete and Un-Abridged History of Magic, Edition Seven._

He made a mental note to thank Hermione later for the large volume of unread book. His foot still keeping the basket stationary, he stretched and grabbed the book from the arm of the couch and placed it on the basket. "There we are. You're two. That ought to keep you put for a few minutes while I clean up a bit."

He paused for a moment, again taking in the chaos, and then walked into the kitchen. He poured himself a handful of dry cheerios and, striding back into the room, proceeded to poke the cheerios through the openings in the plastic.

"Chichis!" James shouted, picking them off the floor of his makeshift cell. "Mo chichis!"

Harry rose from the chattering hamper and had his wand out, prepared to try a cleaning spell or two before ultimately using his hands and a sponge, when he heard the doorknob turn.

"Hey! How's my two-" Ginny froze in the doorway, her mouth agape. The sunlight poured in behind her, illuminating her blazing hair and heavily pregnant shape. "What—the—bloody-"

"Mummy! Mummymummymummy!" The hamper rocked back and forth, the book bouncing and the pages fluttering.

Harry grinned sheepishly and held up his hands in defeat as James pressed himself against the side of the basket, trying to peek out of the holes.

"My house. It's—it's—I'm going to have to move. It's beyond redeemable." Ginny gazed around the room, aghast. "And my son is underneath a clothes hamper."

There was an awkward silence filled only by James' unintelligible words.

"Okay. I'm—I'm going back out now."

"Gin, no!" Harry yelped, leaping forward and catching the door before it shut. "You've got to help me!"

Reluctantly, she walked back inside and closed the door behind her. Her tan trench coat crinkled loudly as she covered her eyes, a pained expression on her lips. "Why is my son in a laundry basket?"

"He wouldn't stop moving. And I had to clean. Preferably before you came home, but, you know."

"Why is he naked from the waist down?"

"Nak—wait, is-," Harry turned to the basket and, sure enough, James was naked save a red jumper. "Oh, right. I changed him, after a bath, you know, had baby powder in his hair, he was a right proper mess, and...well, he took off before I could put a diaper on him."

"Why didn't you _catch him_ and _then_ put one on?"

"Couldn't."

"How did you put him in a laundry prison, then?"

"Oh, that. I just, uh, sort of, well, you know-" He made a large motion with his hands not unlike a pantomime of Whack-A-Mole with a bucket for a mallet, "Captured him. I fed him cheerios, he's fine."

"If he pees on my carpet, so help me, Merlin, I will strangle you." She pulled her hand down her face and yanked her wand from her coat. "Go. Take care of him. I'll clean up."

"Ginny Potter, you are an absolute _saint_," Harry exclaimed. He moved forward and made to kiss her, but she pulled away angrily and began waving her wand about.

He lifted the hamper and snatched the toddler up. He carried him to the bedroom, the naked boy jabbering away lively, and thought maybe the next one would (hopefully) be less of a handful.


	4. I Broke the Baby

**Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, wish I did, if wishes were fishes we'd walk on the sea, &tc &tc. Y'all know the drill.**

**A/N: A-ha! My first dance into papa!Weasley country! I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

She slung the bag off her shoulder and onto the sofa, rolling her neck as Ron set the carrier down. He had insisted upon apparition, but for once, she wanted the charms of Muggle simplicity: she had driven home, in a car, with Ron in the back seat.

"Ron?"

He looked at her in answer while taking off his coat.

"Could you watch the baby? I need to shower." She saw the panic in his eyes, _First Baby Panic_, Ginny had called it, and she shrugged at her husband. "She's already been fed. Just before we left the hospital, actually. Please? I'm disgusting."

He looked between Hermione and the baby several times before nodding in defeat. She beamed and grabbed a towel from the linen closet, taking off to the bathroom. "You can take her out of the carrier, you know! No need to be afraid of her!" she yelled from the master bath, her voice muffled by the walls between them.

Ron gingerly unbuckled the sleeping infant from the car seat and carefully, with immense precision, brought her to his chest. He inched onto the couch and adjusted her to his lap. He smiled—he couldn't help the thousand-watt grin that had illuminated his face for the past three days—and took the sight of her in. She had little tufts of curly, reddish-brown hair and the palest, smoothest skin he'd ever seen. Right above her eyebrow was a little red spot—'stork bite', Hermione's mother had called it—and she had the bluest eyes he'd ever seen outside a mirror. When he put his finger in her tiny hand, she grasped it tightly and he felt as if his heart might swell and nearly pop. "Rosie," he breathed. "Little Rosie."

He sat watching her for a moment when Hermione walked back into the room, her towel wrapped around her. "Forgot the shampoo," she explained. She snatched a bottle from the store sack on the counter and headed back toward the bedroom, her bare feet plapping on the linoleum.

"Oi, Hermione," Ron began, looking up. "When's she going to open her eyes?"

Hermione stopped and pivoted her whole body slowly, a look of shocked disbelief on her face. "When she wakes up? She's not a _puppy_, Ron."

"Oh."

She shook her head and made her way back, leaving Ron with the now-awakening baby. Rose gurgled and opened her eyes, those blue, blue eyes so much like his, and her mouth curled into the tiniest smile. Ron exhaled excitedly; a first smile. For him. Gas be damned, this was a smile! Beyond the limits of his anatomy he felt love for this tiny little human in his lap. He held her hands and beamed at her, imagining her whole life, and he was ripped form his reverie by her body jolting. He stared curiously at her as she jiggled a second, a third time. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth-seventh-eight-ninth. 

"Hermione," he whimpered weakly, turning his head but not his eyes to the back of the house. Tenth. Eleventh. Twelfth. "Hermione!"

He laid the baby back in the carrier and tore through the house, opening the bathroom door to be greeted by a screaming, startled Hermione.

"What?" she gasped, covering herself with the shower curtain. The water was running hot, steam collecting on the mirrors.

"There's something wrong with the baby! She's—she's—convulsing! I think she's having a...oh, a whatsit. A seizure."

Ron felt only the slap of the hot water and the shower curtain as Hermione raced past him, covered in pale yellow plastic. He took off after her and joined her side in the living room, staring down at the baby in the carrier.

"See, look! I think I broke her. Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry. I've had her for three days and I broke her."

Hermione was silent, her brows furrowed, eyes closed, and mouth into a thin line. "Ronald...Billius...Weasley."

She adjusted the shower curtain around herself and took a deep breath. "She is most definitely not having a seizure."

"Like Hell she isn't! Look-"

"Those are the hiccups," she spoke stonily, each word hard and enunciated. "She has the hiccups."

Ron, a look of comprehension dawning over his face, looked down at Rose. He didn't notice Hermione groan and swish-swish herself and the curtain back to the bathroom, didn't notice her mutter 'men' in an angry, but amused fashion. He only knew about the hiccuping baby and the second smile she gave him.

He grabbed a pen and tore a corner off the Prophet. He stuck his head out the window and began to whistle, but Podgey was already there.

"Oi, great timing." He held up the blank parchment. "Lemme write, then you take this to Harry, yeah?" The owl hooted in agreement.

Ron's penmanship was sloppy as he hastily scrawled out a letter. 

Harry,

Hiccups—they kind of look like seizures,  
>don't they? Weird.<p>

-Ron

He folded the note and clipped it to the bird's leg, then watched him fly off. He sat on the couch, opposite the car seat, and looked at the baby as she sucked on her fingers. He suddenly felt very tired.


	5. Teddy of the Wedding

**Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Wish I did, though. Wouldn't that be wicked cool?**

**A/N: Oh, look! Me writing Teddy! I have to admit, I do love Teddy Lupin. And I think with Teddy as his Godson, Harry got his first real taste of parenthood this way. Thanks to all of you who subscribed, and to one user for the very nice review! I hope you enjoy!**

Hermione had said she frankly expected it, but not to the degree it came. The fact of the matter was that Ginny was a Bridezilla. A staunch one. Harry loved that she was a pistol, but in the weeks and months leading up to the wedding, she became more like a warden than a firecracker.

Ron merely laughed. Said Harry knew Mrs. Weasley and, therefore, should've known he'd have a bossy, whip-cracking woman on his hands. Harry would smile and ask Ron how was life with Hermione, the ball crusher? and they would chuckle and share a moment of silence for their lost manhood. May it rest in peace.

Harry was allowed exactly two decisions in the wedding: his vows and his groomsmen. Ginny liked to pretend he had a say in the wardrobe, guests, china patterns or whatever else it was he was supposed to be paying attention to and was not, but he really didn't. His purpose in wedding-related outings was to smile, be handsome, and not say a single thing. If his words didn't start with 'Wh' and end in 'atever you say, dear', his words had no place in wedding-planning conversations. He didn't really mind this, as it gave him more opportunity to let his mind wander, but he could tell the tyranny of the Gin dynasty was wreaking havoc on the lesser peasants, i.e. the wedding party.

Hermione wore a brave face when presented with her bridesmaids gown—Ron said imagine cat puke and you had the general idea of the thing—and Mrs. Weasley held a strained smile whenever Ginny would enter a long-winded speech about how the flowers she chose were symbolic, _not_ ornamental. Harry mainly stared into space at a spot just over her left shoulder and would utter forth an 'of course' or 'I agree' if he thought he heard the inflection of a question. Ginny normally would have caught on, but she was too busy to notice this insolence.

Harry wanted to get married, of course. Wouldn't have asked if he had no intention of going through with it. But the combination of Ginny's descent into terror and the days beginning to fill up with preparation, preparation, preparation, he found himself wanting more to just be married than to actually get married.

_**xxx**_

So there's a sort of nervous, anxious energy eating away at his inside when it's The Day, finally The Day. Harry's standing at the front, Kingsley beside him in a serious robe and serious face. He's nearly bouncing out of his skin as the wedding party begins their precession. Bill and Fleur walk up the aisle in the back garden of the burrow, followed by Charlie and Luna, then George and Angelina, and finally Ron and Hermione, her dress indeed the color of orange feline vomit. But Harry doesn't register the colors or the dresses. He watches, a smile creeping across his face, as Victoire toddles clumsily down the aisle, Teddy a few paces behind.

Harry looks up, toward the back of the garden, and he sees her. He gapes; he knew she was beautiful, always knew it, but today there's something different about her. Mr. Weasley is beaming, his arm linked in hers, and she's looking between her father and her fiancée almost like a child asking permission. She's got her hair down in soft curls, the white of her dress nearly glowing. He takes in a sharp breath and Ron nudges him, grinning and pointing down.

Teddy is taking two or three steps at a time and then putting his hands by his ears, fingers curled and spread, and roaring at the guests. He takes who or three more steps and does the same to the other side of the aisle. The patrons are giggling, even teary-eyed Mrs. Weasley, and Harry sees both Teddy and Ginny's smiles crack.

She nearly glides down the aisle, almost bumping into the growling Teddy, who's now whimpering and holding the ring box up. He's in front of Hermione's legs, pulling on Ginny's train, and Hermione calmly removes his hand each time.

Kingsley clears his throat. "We are gathered here today to join two faithful souls in the union of marriage. These two-"

"But they are laughing at me!" Teddy howls, and Hermione quickly tries to shush him as Ginny shoots them a glare.

"Teddy, sweetheart, _shush_," Hermione exhales softly, pulling more white fabric from Teddy's chubby hand.

"But-but-but," he wails, his hair turning bright green, then curly brown. "I'm '_posed_ to be the _Ring Bear_!"

And then it happens. Ginny throws back her head and laughs. Hard. She's shaking with it, leaning forward and resting on Harry's shoulder, trying to breathe. The entire congregation is frozen, unsure of what to do or say. Has she finally cracked? And then Ginny pulls Teddy over by the hand, tears of laughter in her eyes, and picks him up.

"Aunt Ninny, was I a good ring bear?" he asks, shoving the ring box at her. He puts his hands on her bare shoulders and toys with her hair. "I growled real loud an' everything!"

"The best, baby," she smiles. She wipes underneath her eyes and grabs hold of Harry's hand, squeezing his fingers tightly. "Ready?"

"Ready." And he is.

_**xxx**_

Hermione had said Ginny's turn into bridal terror was swift, but slightly expected. But she redeemed herself with open mouth laughter and glittering, teary eyes.

For years, Teddy could never for the life of him properly work out why his Godfather called him 'Little Bear'. He always assumed he was being likened to a Muggle toy.


	6. And in Regards to James Sirius Potter,

**Disclaimer: I, again, don't own any of these characters. Le sigh.**

**A/N: A little collection of James-esque stories. Hope you enjoy!**

"Oh, what a handsome little boy!" The old woman smiled at James and Harry. She tried to tousle James' hair, but he ducked behind his father and she laughed, the sound of it in perfect time with the elevator music of the Muggle department store. "How old are you?"

"Six," he drawled, peering out at her from between his father's legs.

"Oh, not so little! What do you want to be when you grow up, young man?"

"Well," he said, his thoughtful, brown eyes narrowing. "Either a model or a police sniper. I haven't decided yet."

_**xxx**_

"Happy Birthday, Grandad!"

Arthur gathered the Potter boys into his arms and squeezed them tight. Lily leaned over from her father's arms and gave him a big, open-mouthed kiss. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together, grinning madly at his grandchildren. "Thank you! Which of you is ready for cake?"

"Careful, Dad. May catch the house on fire for the candles," Ginny added, winking at her father.

"So, how old are you anyway, Grandad?"

Arthur tried to speak, but was interrupted by James.

"I'll bet you're forty."

"No, eighty!"

"Probably eighty-five."

"A hundred!"

James rolled his eyes at his brother. "Al, he can't be a hundred. A hundred is when you're dead."

"Oh."

He eyed his grandfather with a look of knowing. "So, you're about ninety-nine, then?"

_**xxx**_

He had kicked and screamed and fought tooth and nail. He had clung to the jungle gym with amazing strength for a five-year-old, and Ginny had only managed him off by reaching 'two-and-three-quarters' on her countdown.

He now sat in the back of the car, his arms folded and a scowl on his face. He had dirt on his chin and grass stains on his knees, and had protested violently when his mother tried to remove them both.

"What kind of ice cream do you want tonight, James? It's Sundae Monday."

She heard nothing but the rattle of his feet as they bounced up and down against the console. She turned to the backseat, then looked up into the rearview mirror, and he looked away huffily, pretending to be interested in whatever was outside.

"Well, guess I'm getting the silent treatment," she muttered to herself.

A little voice rang out from the back seat. "They don't even HAVE that kind. So HA."

_**xxx**_

"Sorry it's only me, Ginny had to work late-"

"It's quite alright, Mr. Potter. Please, sit."

Harry very seldom regretted his decisions, and even when he did, he never said a word about the regret, lest he never hear the end of it from Ginny. But as the parent-teacher meetings became more and more frequent, he thought maybe the decision to put James in Muggle primary school would have to be one of those 'never-live-it-down' ones. "How are you, Mrs. Gravitt?"

"Splendid," she grinned, her smile full of something Harry didn't like. He knew now why James had gotten Detention Number 13; she indeed did look like a Mrs. Ratface.

"Is there any reason-"

"James is a...a bright child," she said. She was obviously choosing her words delicately. "But he has a bit of a rebellious streak. A taste for mischief, should we say."

"Yes."

"He has received his twenty-first detention this month, and never, in my entire career, have I had a student have twenty-one detentions total, let alone in a month, Mr. Potter."

"My wife and I are working on-"

"The reason for his twenty-first detention is as follows." She took a piece of paper from the top of her desk and whipped it forward fiercely with a loud cracking sound. She cleared her throat and eyed Harry over her square-framed glasses. "James Sirius Potter, Year Three, Detention. Reason: Was overheard telling a younger student that he, James, had heard the teachers talking and they said the student's parents had died, and the student would be required to live at the school forever. Student was obviously distraught; James laughed. Punishment: James was required to stay inside from recess and write lines."

Harry was partly appalled, slightly mortified, and more than a little amused. These mixed emotions weren't lost on Mrs. Gravitt.

"Do you think this is appropriate behavior for a child of James' age?"

"No, ma'am, absolutely not."

"Good," she snapped, straightening herself. "I trust you and his mother will properly discipline him—ehem—as you see fit."

"Of course."

"Thank you. Until next time."

He rose, shook her outstretched hand and stepped outside, where James was waiting on a plastic, red chair.

"Hi, Pop!"

"Be quiet."

"Is this about the detention?" he asked, following his father's quick footsteps down the hall. "Dad, it was funny."

"No it wasn't. It was mean, James."

"Wasn't as mean as Detention Eight, the one where I asked if Rosalie would get skinny or die if she didn't eat for a whole month."

Harry cast a look down at his dark-haired son, whose eyes were alight with the too-familiar twinkle of a Marauder. He sighed and prepared himself for a closet full of detention slips.

_**xxx**_

"Dad?"

Harry rolls his head over and groans softly into the darkness of the bedroom. "What?"

"Can you bring me a glass of water?"

"No, James," he yells, his voice booming off the walls and bouncing down the hallway to his son's bedroom. "You had your chance before bed. It's lights out. Go to sleep."

A silence settles over the house and Harry rubs his eyes, trying to ease himself into sleep. He's nearly there when a voice rings out from the back bedroom once again.

"_Daaa_aaad."

"James!" he roars dangerous, this time sitting up in bed. He looks over and Ginny is still asleep; he wonders how she does it.

"Dad, please? I'm really thirsty!"

"No!" he shouts again. He knows he or James is going to wake up Lily or Albus, and then they'll both have to pay and face the wrath of sleep-deprived Ginevra Potter. "And if you yell again, I'm going to come in there and you're going to get an ass busting, you hear? Good_night_, James!"

He flops himself onto the pillow, Ginny's hair bouncing as he does, and closes his eyes one more time. He tries not to think about the mound of paperwork waiting for him tomorrow on his desk; as his thoughts wonder, he feels himself get fuzzier and fuzzier, his brain beginning to slow and steady itself. He is on the precipice of sleep—he can see it on the horizon—when he is jerked from the darkness of his eyelids and the soft, comforting pull of a good eight hours.

"_Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad_."

Harry sits up, his eyes fiery and his voice sparking with wild electricity. "What did I _just say_, James? _What_?"

A beat of silence.

"When you come in here to spank me, can you bring me a glass of water?" 


End file.
